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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 







































The Old Home 


THE OLD HOME 

BY 

REBECCA WELLS 


BOSTON 

ROXBURGH PUBLISHING COMPANY 
INC. 


Copyrighted 1913 
By The Roxburgh Publishing Co. 
Rights Reserved 


DEDICATED 

To my friends who are growing old , don’t 
leave the old home. 

To my friends who are yet young , let your 
best gift to the old folks be the assurance that 
they shall stay in the old home, and that you 
will make it possible for them to do so. 

REBECCA WELLS. 


THE OLD HOME 



























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( 


















THE OLD HOME 


CHAPTER I. 

“Don’t urge me any more. It is simply 
impossible for me to go away now. There is 
Ben and Blossom and the hens. What would 
I do with them?” 

Mother looked inquiringly from son to 
daughter. 

“Sell the horse and cow and hens,” Jim said. 

“Sell Ben!” exclaimed mother. “It would 
be like selling one of the family. He is so 
high-spirited and yet so gentle, I can drive 
him anywhere. And Blossom I raised, and 
the hens are laying so well! It seems a very 
foolish thing to do,” said Mother decidedly. 

“But Mother, you are getting too old to 
work so hard as you will have to if you stay 
7 


8 


The Old Home 


on the farm. The best thing to do is to sell 
the farm and make your home with one of 
the children. You can visit each one of us, 
and then decide where you would rather stay. 
Father is willing to go, and you cannot stay 
here alone,” Jennie said. 

“Why not? I am well and able to work, and 
have good neighbors. Why should I leave 
my old home, where I have lived for forty 
years? Sooner or later Father will want to 
come back to the old home, and if I go away, 
there will be no home to come to.” 

“Do be reasonable, Mother,” said Jim, 
impatiently. “It is a disgrace for you to 
stay here alone when you have so many children 
with good homes, where you would be gladly 
welcomed, with nothing to do and nothing to 
worry you.” 

Mother smiled. “If I had nothing to do, 
that would certainly worry me.” 



The little ones at the Old Home. 









































































































































* 



































































The Old Home 


9 


“If you only had a telephone, so I could 
hear from you any hour. Do give it up, 
Mother, and come and live with me,” said 
Jennie.” You can bring Ben and Blossom 
with you. Jim can help you pack up anything 
you want to bring and the rest you can leave 
in the house until you decide what you will 
do. I will meet you at the station any day. 

“Now, we must go, if we catch the five 
o’clock train,” continued Jennie, giving her 
mother a loving hug and kiss, and with re- 
peated warnings to look out for fire; to be care- 
ful and not get hurt when caring for the horse 
and cow and be sure she did not fall into the 
spring, and exacting a promise to send a post- 
card every day, Jim and Jennie droveaway. 

“Just as if I were a child,” said Mother, a 
little resentfully. “Why, I am only sixty- 
three, and can do more work in a day than 
half of the young women. 


10 


The Old Home 


“And they think I am too old to work any 
more — it would be better to leave here and 
live with my children — why, this is my home 
and every foot of it is dear to me. Where 
would my home be then? A few weeks with 
this one or that one, and very likely that 
would be as long as they would care to have 
me stay. Let me see — if I went to Sam’s 
where there are five children and all the work 
there is to do on a big dairy farm — well, I 
may be too old to work, but very likely would 
work harder there than here, for I would feel 
a if I ought to help. 

“Then Jennie’s home is in the city and every 
thing is so fine and her friends are so fashion- 
able, I never could be contented there, al- 
though I know she would do everything to 
make me happy. Jim is his mother’s own 
son, and in the family circle, anyway, is 
noted for his plain speaking — I don’t believe 


The Old Home 


11 


I’ll risk it — Will, with such poor health, 
has his hands full to make both ends meet, 
and Kitty isn’t married. The only and the 
best place for your mother is the old home.” 

The old clock struck six. “As late as that!” 
exclaimed Mother. “Ben and Blossom will 
be looking for their supper,” and catching up 
the milk-pail, Mother started for the barn. 

Mother, being alone a great deal, had a 
habit of talking to herself. Father said it 
was a sure sign that the person was a little 
‘off’, but Mother said her head was as level 
as some other people’s heads. 

Now, Father was going to spend the winter 
in the city with his brother, so as to be near a 
specialist, as his health for many years had 
been very poor and the children wanted mother 
to shut up the house and live with them, 
which meant, so Mother said, to leave her old 
home for good. 


12 


The Old Home 


Mother brought in the milk; the pail was 
running over — Blossom was a good cow — 
strained it in the shining pans, and set it 
on the rack, and then got her supper. She 
made a good cup of tea in the little brown 
tea-pot that Kitty brought to her from the 
city — Mother said the tea had a better flavor 
made in that tea-pot — filled the dainty little 
pitcher that Jennie gave her so long ago 
with thick, sweet cream, put on bread and 
butter, cottage cheese and strawberry pre- 
serves. She had picked the berries in the 
meadow below the house every summer for 
forty years, to make preserves, as she liked 
the flavor better than garden berries. 

“I believe I will have some of that cream 
pie. Jennie said my cream pies were the 
best she ever ate, and a piece of gingerbread 
— Jim said no one ever made such good ginger- 
bread as Mother. 


The Old Home 


13 


“I can tell them why things taste so good. 
It’s the old home flavor.” 

After the dishes were washed, she drew the 
old rocking-chair up to the table. 

“I won’t worry to-night about leaving the 
old home. I’ll read the new magazine and 
forget all about it. She read one short story, 
laid the magazine on the table and picked up 
a picture, laughing softly as she looked at it, 
and thought of that fishing trip when the boys 
and girls were at home. She hears again 
Jennie’s gay laughter, Kitty’s merry voice, 
and John’s bantering tone as he held up six 
tiny fish to prove the girls skill as fishers. 

“How happy we were, when they were all 
at home! And now they think I would be 
happier in some other place.” 

“The children think, Fritz, that I ought to 
leave the old home,” stroking his head gently. 
“Why? They think I am too old to work, 


14 


The Old Home 


and as I am not rich, they think I would have 
more comforts and luxuries and be happier 
if I lived with one of them. But this is home, 
and we couldn’t be happy anywhere else, 
could we? ‘Be it ever so humble, there’s 
no place like home’,” Mother sang softly. 

The old dog laid his head on her knee 
affectionately, and wagged his tail in approval. 

“I could not bear the thought of a stranger 
living here! 

“There, in the back yard is the tree John 
planted so many years ago. What a beautiful 
tree it is now! Such a cool, shady place in 
summer to read, or sew. When John comes 
back, Mother must be in the old home to 
welcome him. 

“There’s that white lilac. I remember 
when Sam and Kitty went down to Dan 
Sells after a white lilac bush, with only an old 
shovel and their little bare hands. They pulled 



The Fishing Trip 
























The Old Home 


15 


and tugged until they got it up, minus half 
the roots. I did not think it would live, but 
it did, and has been a thing of beauty for years. 

“The black currant bushes! How I love 
their bright yellow blossoms and spicy smell — 
and the snowdrop that the boys insisted upon 
setting in the back yard, ‘so Mother would 
have something pretty to look at’ — from the 
kitchen window I could see only the back yard 
— and the roses Jennie bought with the first 
money she earned teaching school. They are 
in the front yard now, the loveliest roses I 
ever saw.” As these things happened long 
before the dog came to the old home, he was 
not interested, so he lay down by the stove, 
and went to sleep. 

Mother thought of the boys' room. For a 
long time it was Sam's room, until Jim and 
Jack were old enough to sleep there. “Then 
we put up another bed and called it the boys' 


16 


The Old Home 


room. Then when the older boys went 
away from home, it was Will’s room, until he 
married, and then it was dear little Danny’s 
room, who, if not my own, was as dear to me 
as my own. Kitty’s room was dainty like 
herself, and Jennie’s glowing with light and 
color. 

“How can I be lonely? Every room is 
full of precious memories, and the children 
seem near to me. 

“Jennie said, Tack up what you want to 
take.’ I want it all ; I cannot pack them up the 
things that I love, and are precious to me. 
They are a part of the old home, and cannot 
be taken away.” 

The old clock struck nine. “So late as that!” 
exclaimed Mother, and I have not read but 
one story. The old clock that we brought 
with us the day we began housekeeping, and 
set it on that shelf, where it has kept the time 


The Old Home 


17 


for us ever since. Meal time, school time, 
church time, train time that took John to 
the gold-fields; wedding time that gave Jennie 
to another’s keeping — but, thank God, it 
never marked any funeral time,” said Mother, 
going across the room to wind the old clock; 
then, as she believed in old fashioned religion, 
she read a chapter in the old Bible, and kneeling 
by her bed, prayed to her Father in Heaven. 

Mother wrote often to Jennie, so she would 
not worry. Father came home and stayed a 
week, but as he did not feel able to work, 
thought a visit to Fannie, a sister who lived 
in another part of the state, would do him 
good. 

Mother urged him to go, telling him that 
she was not a bit afraid to stay alone with such 
near neighbors and such a good watch dog 
as Fritz. 

She did not mind doing the chores, as she 


18 


The Old Home 


generally did them when Father was at home, 
as a good share of the time he said, “he did 
not feel like doing anything.” 

“Time fairly flew,” Mother said, “there 
are so many things to do before settled cold 
weather.” 

One day Jim came. “Give it up, Mother, 
and go home with me. Do you know, Mother, 
that ever since I can remember, I’ve been told 
that ‘good commonsense is all one needs?” 

“It strikes me that this is one of the times 
when it is needed. It is not safe for you to 
stay here alone. 

“What would you do if you were sick, or 
should get hurt at the barn? If Father were 
here — ” 

Mother sighed, wearily. 

“You know, Jim, that Father, in cold weath- 
er, hardly ever feels like going as far as the 
barn.” 



Daniel. 









































The Old Home 


19 


‘Til tell you what to do,” said Mother, 
brightening. “When you go home, telephone 
to Jennie to bring Carl out here to stay with 
me. He can run to the neighbors if anything 
happens, and you children need not worry 
any more.” 

“A five-year old child is not much pro- 
tection,” laughed Jim. 

“Protection! Why, I don’t need any one 
to protect me, when I have the best watch 
dog in the country,” Mother replied. 

“Well, I must go, if I catch the train. Any 
time you want me to come after you just drop 
me a line. I’ll telephone to Jennie to-night. 
Goo d-by e, mother . ” Jim bent down to kiss her 
her. He was an affectionate son. 

She watched him as he drove down the 
road. 

“I suppose the children really think it is 
the best thing for me to do. And yet they 


20 


The Old Home 


love their own homes and would not want 
to leave them. I have lived here a great 
many years. Oh! I cannot! I cannot leave 
my old home!” 


CHAPTER II 
CARL 

The next day was a lovely day. Although 
the first of December, it was as warm and 
pleasant as May. 

“There comes Jennie and Carl,” said Mother 
as she looked down the road just before sun- 
down. 

“I’ve brought your boy, Mother,” laughed 
Jennie, as she drove to the door. 

Carl was so glad to see grandma that he 
hugged and kissed her so many times, that she 
declared she would not have breath enough 
left to get supper. 

After supper they went into Grandma’s 

21 


22 


The Old Home 


cozy, little sitting room, and sat down by 
the pleasant wood fire. 

“Jim telephoned to me, and I have brought 
Carl to stay a week or so. When he comes 
home, I want you to come with him. Won’t 
that be lovely, Carl, to have Grandma live 
with us,” asked Mama. 

Carl’s eyes opened wide. “And not have 
any Grandma’s house to come to? And then 
you couldn’t go out home any more, Mama! 
I wouldn’t like it a bit. Course, I’d want 
her to make us a little visit, but I want a 
grandma’s house to go to, ’cos I have such 
good times,” said Carl, climbing into Grand- 
ma’s lap, and giving her another hug and kiss. 

“And you shall have. Grandma has a 
good time, too, when you come to visit her,” 
holding him in a close embrace. 

“The weather will soon be cold and dis- 
agreeable and if anything should happen to 


The Old Home 


23 


you there would be no one to take care of you,” 
Jennie said. 

“Why, Mama, can’t the Lord take care of 
Grandma here, same as he can at our house?” 

“Of course He can, dear, but — ” 

“I know how to fix it,” Carl interrupted. 
“The Lord has so many folks to take care of, 
I’ll stay here and take care of Grandma. 
Course, every woman has just got to have a 
man around to see to things,” squaring his 
little shoulders. 

“How like a man,” murmured Grandma. 
“You have solved the problem, Carl. We 
won’t worry any more,” and she patted his 
curly head. 

The next morning Jennie went home, leaving 
Carl to take care of Grandma. 

He was up early to help do the chores. 
He went to the barn with Grandma, who 
called to the horse, as she did every morning, 


24 


The Old Home 


“Ben, are you there?” and he answered with a 
whinny of delight, for he knew she had his 
morning treat of sugar. 

Carl did not go very near the cow. “I 
don’t think I better milk this morning, Grand- 
ma, ’cause the cow ain’t ’quainted with me.” 

“You better not,” she laughingly replied. 

“But I can give Ben his hay.” Grandma 
consented, keeping an eye on him to see that 
he did not hurt the horse nor himself. “You 
know, Grandma,” he continued, “when the 
girls were out here last summer we had lots 
of fun learning to ride Ben.” After feeding 
Ben, they went in to breakfast. 

“Don’t you think I better sit in Grandpa’s 
place,” Carl asked, when breakfast was ready, 
“’cause I’m the only man in the house.” 

“Certainly, dear,” Grandma replied, re- 
pressing a smile. 

Carl was so busy all day, seeing to things, 


The Old Home 


25 


that he was so tired he could hardly keep 
awake to eat his supper. 

One morning when Carl awoke, the ground 
was white with snow. The wind blew hard 
and cold. The beautiful summer-like weather 
was over and Grandma and Carl did not 
venture out unless obliged to go to the barn 
to feed Ben, Blossom and the hens. 

Grandma looked in the old big chest up- 
stairs — the one that had belonged to her 
grandmother — to find something to amuse 
Carl. 

There were old picture books that the chil- 
dren had played with, torn and scribbled 
all over; some little blocks with big, red letters 
and funny pictures and a wooden box with 
the cover nailed on, a slit in the top, just 
big enough to let a cent slip through. This 
was Uncle Jim’s bank that he made himself, 
and which interested Carl very much. “Did he 


26 


The Old Home 


have it full of money? Will it hold a million 
dollars? I’m going to save my money and 
have a box full.” Glancing at Grandma’s 
sober face, “Say, Grandma, do you want me 
to be an awful rich man or an awful good 
man?” 

“Be a good man, anyway, a good, rich 
man if you can,” answered Grandma. 

Carl was busy and happy until night. 

But two or three stormy days followed, 
and Carl, who had stayed two weeks with 
Grandma, began to talk of going home. 

“I know Mama is lonesome to see me, but 
I don’t want to go home and leave you alone. 
I ’most know Helen is saying this minute, 
‘I want to go and see Grandma.’ You better 
get her, Grandma. I think girls is awful 
nice — much better than boys. If you got to 
have a boy, you can get an awful good one at 
the Norphans’ Home. Mr Brown did.” 


The Old Home 


27 


“I think I’ll get Helen,” said Grandma, 
laughing. 

“That’s the best thing to do, Grandma,” 
said he, very earnestly. “Course, I got to 
go home to see how things are going.” 

One night after a very stormy day, Carl 
sat in his little chair beside Grandma. “I 
feel lonesome,” he began; then as his eyes 
wandered to the little table where a big dish 
of red apples and corn ready to pop when 
the fire was hot enough and a dish of walnuts 
that Grandma was going to crack for him, 
he added, “I guess it’s a happy lonesome, 
Grandma.” 

She kissed the little upturned face and said 
‘he was her darling boy.’ 

The next morning came a long letter from 
Mama, saying she would send Tom, the driver, 
after Carl the first pleasant day. 

The next morning was warm and pleasant 


28 


The Old Home 


and Carl was very busy seeing to “things” and 
giving Grandma lots of advice in regard to 
the care of Ben and Blossom. 

Carl had been playing with his sled near 
the house. Grandma looked out but did not 
see him. She called, but no answer ; frightened, 
she ran to the barn. There he was, so busy 
he did not hear her, pouring oats and corn 
in pans, pails, basins and cans, set in the middle 
of the floor. “Carl, what are you doing?” 
asked Grandma. “Fm fixing things handy, 
Grandma, so you won’t have to work so hard 
when I go home. See, I put the corn and 
oats where the hens can get it. You won’t 
have to come to the barn to feed ’em, and I 
got down hay enough for Ben to most last 
him a week.” He surely had — Ben was 
literally out of sight and the hens were making 
good use of their time in disposing of the good 
things set before them. 


The Old Home 


29 


Grandma did not scold. She knew the 
little fellow had worked hard, believing he 
was helping her. She only said, “You did 
get a lot of hay down. Now we will put it 
one side so Ben will not trample it under foot; 
and cover up the hen feed for fear the hens 
will eat enough to make them sick,” putting 
bran sacks and blankets over the dishes until 
she had time to put the feed back in the grain 
bin. 

“Wasn’t it all right, Grandma?” he asked 
anxiously, as they went to the house. 

“Yes, dear, it is all right this time.” She 
sat down to rest a few minutes before getting 
the dinner. 

“Are you sick Grandma?” 

“No, dear, but I am tired, and my head 
aches.” 

Carl ran out of the door, and Grandma began 
her preparations for dinner. Going to the 


30 


The Old Home 


shed for an armful of wood she glanced out 
of the door and saw her nearest neighbors 
running toward the house. She ran to the 
door. “What is the matter? Tell me quick! 
Where is Carl?” Mrs. Brown was the first 
to reach the door breathless, Mr. Brown next. 

“Carl,” he said, “the little scamp! But 
I forgive him for giving us such a fright. I’m 
glad you are alive and all right.” 

“What was the matter?” asked Mrs. Sims, 
who with her husband had just reached the 
door. 

Grandma looked from one neighbor to 
another in bewilderment. 

“Matter? What do you mean?” 

Mr. Brown said, “Why, Carl came over 
just as we were sitting down to dinner and 
said we better come right over and see what 
was the matter with Grandma. We called to 
Will and May to come over as quick as they 



Learning to ride Ben. 


/ 



The Old Home 


31 


could and here we all are,” he added, 
laughing. 

Carl, seeing that he had made a mistake, 
ran to Grandma and hid his face in her lap. 
“What made you do so, Carl?” gently asked 
Grandma. 

“Mama told me if you was sick or hurt to 
run and get the neighbors and you said your 
head ached,” and he began to cry. 

“Don’t cry, little man. You meant all 
right. Always take good care of Grandma,” 
Mr. Brown said to him, “and we’ll go home 
and eat our dinner.” 

“I’m so sorry,” began Grandma. 

“Don’t think of it. We are so glad there 
is nothing the matter. Oh, no, we can’t 
come in,” in answer to Grandma’s invitation, 
“dinner was nearly ready. Do come over and 
stay all day. Hope nothing happens. Good- 
bye,” and they went down the road, home. 


32 


The Old Home 


Grandma and Carl had just finished their 
dinner when Tom drove to the door. 

“Hello, youngster, hurry up if you want 
to go home. Your father is coming from the 
city on the 2:15 and he wants you to be at 
the station when the train gets there, so you 
can go home with him.” 

Carl was so glad to go home, but tears 
rolled down his cheeks when he kissed Grand- 
ma good-bye. 

She tucked the blanket and robe around 
him, so he would not be cold, and when she 
bent her head to kiss the dear little face, he 
whispered, “You won’t lock up the house and 
go away, will you? ’Cause I want a grandma’s 
house to go to and a grandma there, too.” 

“No, darling, I will not,” Grandma said, 
and Tom, impatient to be gone, took up the 
lines and the horse struck into a sharp trot, 
little Carl waving his hand until out of sight. 


The Old Home 


33 


Mother went to the barn to undo the mis- 
chief Carl had done. After an hour’s hard 
work, the hay was over-head again, and the 
grain in the bins where it belonged. 

She went to the house and sat down by 
the sunny window. The cat jumped into 
her lap and the dog stood beside her, and laid 
his head against her knee. 

Mother was very tired. She missed the 
happy, little voice. “It is lonesome,” she said, 
“but — ” and she thought of all the work and 
excitement Carl had made that day. “I 
guess just now, it is as Carl says, a happy 
lonesome. 

“But I love to have the grandchildren visit 
me. And this is a reason for living in the old 
home. There should be a place for the grand- 
children to visit grandpa and grandma.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE NEIGHBORS 

The next morning, as Mother was eating her 
breakfast, she heard a light tap on the door, 
and a pleasant voice. 

“Don’t leave your breakfast, I am coming 
right in, as soon as I take off my rubbers.” 

The door opened and Mary Brown walked 
in, 

“A very early call,” she said, smilingly. 
“But I could not wait another minute. I 
have so much to tell you.” 

Mother looked up inquiringly 

“To begin at the beginning. George said 
when we were going home that he thought 
34 


The Old Home 


35 


it was the best thing Carl could have done, 
as it made us realize how unsafe it was for 
you to be here alone. After I went to bed 
last night, I lay awake, thinking about you.” 

“You foolish child,” chided mother. 

“I knew George was very tired, and thought 
I would not wake him. I called softly, ‘George, 
are you awake?’ ‘Haven’t been asleep yet!’ 
‘What!’ I exclaimed, pretending to be aston- 
ished, ‘What has kept you awake?’ I knew. 
‘Thinking about Grandma,’ he answered.” 

“Two foolish children,” commented Mother. 

“ ‘What were you thinking about Grand- 
ma,’ I asked George. 

“ ‘You know Grandma does not want to 
leave her old home, and we don’t want her 
to go, either.’ 

“ ‘Of course, we don’t,” I said. ‘If Grandma 
goes away, I never will go into the house 
again.’ 


36 


The Old Home 


“ ‘We’ve got to think out a plan, so it 
will be safe for Grandma to stay there alone. 
Grandpa is away so much — his health is 
so poor, it don’t make much difference whether 
he is there or away — and then we talked of 
this plan and that until we have perfected, 
madam, in our minds, a system of signals 
that will apprise us any hour of the day or 
night, what you are doing, how you are feeling, 
etc. We are only waiting for your approval, 
madam,” bowing low to Mother. 

“Come down to the ground, Mary, and tell 
me what you mean.” 

Mary went to the door and came back with 
a big dinner-horn and a huge dinner-bell. 

“Now,” explained Mary, “whenever any- 
thing happens here — if the cat should fall 
into the well, ring this big dinner-bell — or 
if it is anything very serious, blow the horn 
and ring the bell, which as George says, 


The Old Home 


37 


will wake the dead and frighten them to death 
again.” 

“Seriously, Grandma, it is the very thing, 
and you will do it, won’t you?’ 

Grandma had been laughing at Mary’s 
nonsense, but answered, very earnestly, “I 
will do so, and am very glad you brought 
them. You know that I am not a coward, 
but — ” 

“I guess I do. George and I were talking 
about that last night — how many times you 
had come to our house, no matter how dark, 
alone, when any of the family were sick,” 
said Mary, warmly. 

“I was going to say,” continued Grandma, 
“the children have said so much about the 
danger and the risk I run by staying alone, 
that it is getting on my nerves.” 

“Let me tell you what else we have thought 
of,” Mary said. ‘What if Grandma is not 


38 


The Old Home 


able to ring the bell or blow the horn?’ asked 
George. I told him I had thought of that 
and also of another signal — a white flag in 
the day-time — ‘Yes/ interrupted George, ‘and 
I will fix a rope and pulley so she can raise 
the flag in a minute.’ Then he said, ‘Why 
didn’t I think of it before? The bell can be 
fixed in the same way.’ You don’t know 
how delighted I am and George, too. Now, 
you can live here as long as you please, and 
any time your signal is out or rung or blown, 
we will be here in five minutes.” 

“You good children! You good children!” 
cried Mother. 

“I am glad you changed the adjective,” 
Mary said 

“How can I ever repay your kindness?” 

“Now, Grandma, if you are going to talk 
like that, I am going right home. Haven’t 
you paid and repaid anything we have done 


The Old Home 


39 


or can do for you? Ever since the first baby 
came, we have been calling on you, and you 
have been doing something for us. 

“Do you remember when the first baby 
had his first stomach ache, and we sent for 
you in the middle of the night, and you found 
us wringing our hands, a tub of hot water 
in the middle of the floor that we were afraid 
to put the baby in for fear it would kill him 
and sure he would die if we didn’t put him in? 
George laughed until the bed shook last night 
when we were talking about it.” 

“You took him, ordered some catnip tea, 
and in fifteen minutes he was sound asleep. 
That was the first time — the other times, 
their name is legion.” 

“Mary, do you think I am unreasonable 
because I want to stay in my old home?” 
asked Mother. 

“No, I don’t,” Mary said very decidedly. 


40 


The Old Home 


“Mrs. Lane is dying of a broken heart,” she 
continued. “She insisted upon staying in 
her old home, and John went every day — it 
isn’t but a little way, you know — to see how 
she was, but Mrs. John put her foot down — 
so she said, and told John to bring her home 
with him, and not spend so much time running 
back and forth. She rules. Of course John 
brought his mother home. 

“Mollie King was there the day John came 
after her. She said Mrs. Lane went from 
room to room, softly closing each door, as she 
came out, and then she sat down by the 
kitchen stove and cried and cried and said 
over and over, ‘Lord, take me home; I don’t 
want to stay any longer.’ 

“Mollie asked her why she did not stay 
in her old home. ‘John’s wife says I ought 
to live there because it takes too much of 
John’s time to run down here every day; she 


The Old Home 


41 


said if I were there, he would not have to 
draw wood and coal and bring my groceries, 
and it would be so much cheaper, and she 
thought I was very unreasonable if I did not 
go.' 

“Mollie asked her why she did not tell 
Mrs. John that John promised to do all those 
things when his father gave him the farm. 
But Mrs. Lane said she would not make any 
trouble between John and his wife, ‘and 
John’s wife thinks it is best, so I’ll go.’ 

“But they will not be troubled with her 
long. I was there yesterday. I never saw 
any one change as she has in the short time 
she has been there. She is so thin and pale 
and looks so down-hearted. 

“Why, John’s wife tells her what she must 
wear, what she must do, and what she must 
eat and drink. 

“Mrs. Lane has always had a good cup of 


42 


The Old Home 


coffee for her breakfast and a good cup of 
tea for dinner and supper, but John’s wife 
gives her milk for supper — skim milk — and 
you know what her tea and coffee are like. 
George says when he puts sugar in he calls it cof- 
fee and if he drinks it without he calls it tea.” 

“I shouldn’t think John would allow it,” 
said Grandma, indignantly. 

“She doesn’t say much to Mrs. Lane be- 
fore John. When he asked his mother if she 
would not rather have a cup of tea, Mrs. 
John said, ‘Your mother don’t sleep good 
when she drinks tea; she is going to try milk,’ 
and Mrs. Lane won’t say anything for fear 
of making trouble. 

“I never knew any old people who left 
their old home whether to live with their 
children, or in some other place, that were 
really happy. 

“Stay in the old home, Grandma, and 


The Old Home 


43 


we’ll all be happy. I must go home and 
do up the work. George and I will come 
over this afternoon and put up the burglar 
alarms. If you want me before that, hang 
the table-cloth on the side door. I’ll keep 
an eye on that.” 

Grandma promised, and Mary hurried home. 

Mother was no relation, whatever, to the 
Brown’s, but she had known Mary ever since 
she was born; in fact, Mother put on her 
first clothes, as she had for each of Mary’s 
three children. Mary’s grandmother died 
when she was a baby, and she had always 
called Mother ‘Grandma’. 

Mary’s mother died before her marriage and 
Grandmother seemed very near and dear to her. 

Looking out of the window, Mother ex- 
claimed, “There comes old Mr. Wells. He 
walks as spry as a man of fifty, although he 
is eighty-three. Why, he is coming here.” 


44 


The Old Home 


He was as straight as a man of fifty, too, 
and scorned a cane. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Clinton,” he greeted 
her as he reached the door. “Yes, I am 
coming in to tell you what my wife and I 
think of your leaving the old home. 

“We just heard this morning that the 
children had decided you were too old to work 
any more, and would have to live with some 
of them. Susan says to me, ‘You go right 
over there, and tell her to stay right where 
she is. We tried it’ — with a shake of his 
head — ‘and we were mighty glad to get back/ 

“That talk about your being too old to 
work is all bosh! Why, when Susan and I 
were your age, we were running a dairy farm, 
and doing most of the work. 

“The winter I was seventy-five I was sick 
all winter, and Susan was worn out waiting 
on me. Well, the children talked us into 


The Old Home 


45 


selling the farm, and going to live with them. 
You know we’ve got two children — Tom, who 
lives in the city and Sarah who lives in the 
country. We went to Tom’s first. Every- 
thing was as fine as a fiddle, the first week 
or so. Tom took us all over the city to see 
the sights, and would ask us, ‘Isn’t this a 
sight better than working yourselves to death 
on that old farm?’ Tom’s wife had always 
lived in the city, and Susan said from the first 
that our country speech and ways annoyed 
her. Then, we got up too early. She didn’t 
like that. When we found out that she didn’t 
want us to come down stairs until we were 
called, Susan stayed in her room and I went 
down with my shoes in my hand, so I would 
not wake her, and put them on in the shed, and 
walked around the city until I thought they 
were up. 

“I couldn’t stand being cooped up so, 


46 


The Old Home 


any way. I couldn’t go in any direction 
without bumping up against some building. 
I told Susan I wanted to get back to the 
country and drive up the cows. She was 
just as anxious to go as I was. Said she wanted 
to go where she wasn’t afraid to open her 
mouth for fear she’d say something wrong. 

Tom’s wife said she was sorry to have us 
go, when we knew she was tickled to death — 
but you know city folks have that way. 

“Well, we went to Sarah’s. I tell you it 
seemed good to get out in the country The 
fields were so green and the birds were singing 
in the old apple-trees; the cows were at the 
bars — ‘Why, Susan, it’s just like home.’ 

“Sarah and the children were so glad to 
see us, and Sarah’s husband shook my hand 
and kissed Susan. When we went to our 
rooms to go to bed, Susan said to me, ‘This is 
like home. I’m sure we’ll like to stay here.’ 


The Old Home 


47 


“ After we’d been there two months, I said 
to Susan, ‘What do you think? I think we’re 
a couple of old fools to give up our home be- 
cause we were not able to do the work, and 
go somewhere else and work just as hard for 
other folks. I’m on the go from morning 
until night, and I’m just fagged out. You’re 
looking peaked, yourself, Susan.’ 

“You see, we were perfectly welcome — I 
know Sarah and the children liked to have us 
there — but Henry was a driver — he drove 
himself and everyone around him to the 
limit. 

“Now, we were fools enough to give up our 
home to please the children, but I said to 
Susan, ‘We’ll keep the money in our own 
hands until we see how this thing comes out.’ 
And we were home-sick. Susan says, ‘I 
want to go home,’ so we bought the place 
where we live now, which was really our old 


48 


The Old Home 


home, where we began housekeeping, and,” 
said the old man with an emphatic nod, 
“we’re going to stay there, too. 

“The young folks think they know it all. 
‘Leave your old home and go and live with 
your children/ they say. It’s hard enough to 
live with your own children, let alone living 
with other people’s,” he added with a laugh. 
“A crust and my own roof for me and Susan 
says so, too. 

“Don’t you go, Mrs. Clinton, don’t you go!” 
he said, as he went out of the door. 

When he reached the road, he called back, 
“Say, did you ever hear about Mrs. White 
leaving her home? No, well, then, I’m going 
to tell ye. You know she lived alone on one 
side of the river — her husband was dead — and 
Joe Green lived on the other side, alone — his 
wife was dead. 

“He used to go over there pretty often, and 


The Old Home 


49 


tell her what a good cook she was — best house- 
keeper in the neighborhood and a lot more 
stuff; finally he asked her to marry him; she 
asked her children what to do, and they ad- 
vised her to marry him. About a month after 
I went over one morning to get Joe to help 
me. As I come around the house, I saw 
Mrs. White standing on the porch, her hands 
over her ears, looking across the river and 
singing, 

‘On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand, 

And cast a wishful eye 
To that fair and happy land 
Where my possessions lie.’ 

“Old Joe was storming around inside, throw- 
ing things right and left. He had an awful 
temper. I got out of sight — she didn’t see 
me — and went home, and told Susan, and she 
said: ‘What made her give up her old home. 


50 


The Old Home 


me — and went home and told Susan and she 
No fool like an old fool. They were both 
about sixty years old. This time I’m going,” 
and he went. 


CHAPTER IV 


SEVERAL THINGS HAPPEN 

There were several days of steady cold 
weather. Father and Jim drove out from the 
city. Jim laughed heartily when he saw the 
signals, but afterward said it was a good 
idea. 

Father urged Mother to go to the city and 
stay a month or two anyway. “You could 
visit a few weeks with Jane,” — her sister — 
“and a week or two with Eliza” — his sister — 
“and a week or so with each of the children.” 

“I can stay in my own home all the while,” 
Mother answered. “I think it would be much 
pleasanter to visit them in the summer.” 

“Fifty miles is too much of a trip for me to 
51 


52 


The Old Home 


make every week, so I better stay in the city, 
and there is no use in my staying here,” said 
Father. “You know I can’t go out in the 
cold to take care of the horse and cow. I don’t 
feel well enough to do it.” 

“I do,” said Mother, “so don’t worry, and 
if I stay here, when it is warm and pleasant 
in the Spring, you will have a home to come 
to.” 

Father went back with Jim. “Any time 
you change your mind, let me know. Hope 
you won’t have to wait long for the money 
Hewitt owes you. Better put him in mind 
of it. I fear it will be a long drawn note.” 

“Yes; think I’ll be out next week. Good- 
bye,” and with a jingle of bells he was off like 
the wind. 

Mother said Father’s poor health had taken 
the edge off from his ambition. He did not 
like to be bothered with business matters, 


The Old Home 


53 


and left much of it for Mother to see to. The 
money Hewitt owed them was for a cow 
Father had sold him and taken his note, which 
was worth the paper it was written on, and 
no more. 

One of the neighbors said Hewitt’s motto 
was “When you can’t find any other use for 
your money, pay debts.” But Mother was 
hopeful. 

One day Hewitt came over to buy some 
apples, and Mother asked him if he could not 
pay the note, adding that she needed it. 

“There’s a streak of Indian in my makeup,” 
he said. “I never forgive an injury nor for- 
get a favor, and I haven’t forgot the time you 
came to our house when we were all sick, and 
took care of us all, and wouldn’t take a cent. 
If the money is going to you, you shall have it, 
if I have to sell the cow.” 

Taking out his pocket-book he handed her 


54 


The Old Home 


five dollars. “That is all the money I have 
to-day. Fll bring the rest of the money in a 
few days. Fll get the apples next time.” 

“No,” said Mother, “I’m going to send some 
to Mrs. Hewitt and the children,” and she 
insisted that he should go down cellar and fill 
the bag with apples to take home. 

“If he only will do as he says he will, that 
money will last until spring when the hens 
begin to lay.” 

Mother had been somewhat worried, be- 
cause she feared the money she had would not 
last until there were butter and eggs to buy 
groceries with. She dared not hint such a 
thing to Father or any of the children — they 
would say, “There’s another reason for leaving 
the old home.” 

Father said he would be home Christmas. 
It was the year for the children to visit the 
other side of the house; and Mother invited 


The Old Home 


55 


George, Mary and the children to spend Christ- 
mas with them, but they were going to the 
old home in the western part of the state, 
where George’s father and mother still lived. 

“Then Father and I will be alone — the first 
time in years that we have not had some one 
here or have not gone somewhere to spend 
Christmas.” 

“Just us two,” continued Mother, “it will 
seem like our first housekeeping days, that 
first summer, when he worked in the city and 
only came home Saturday nights.” 

Mother’s cakes and pies were baked and 
the chicken ready to roast the night before 
Christmas. She had looked all day for Father; 
she thought he would surely come, it was such 
a pleasant day, but he did not come. 


CHAPTER V 

CHRISTMAS 

“He will come out early in the morning, 
any way,” she said 

But Christmas morning was cold and stormy 
and by noon there was a huge drift between 
the house and barn. 

“I should feel worried, if I did not know him 
so well. Wallace never wants to do anything 
to-day that he can put off till to-morrow.” 

Fritz looked inquiringly at his mistress. 
“We’ll have to eat our dinner alone. He isn’t 
coming. But you shall have just as good a 
dinner as I do, you dear old dog.” She heaped 
a plate with good things and set it down for 
the dog before she sat down to her own dinner. 
56 


The Old Home 


57 


Each of the girls had sent a Christmas 
box to father and herself, which she had got 
from the express office the night before, but 
she would not open them until Father came. 

After dinner, she opened the boxes, laying 
aside the parcels with Father’s name on. 
There were boxes and parcels of all sizes and 
shapes, each decorated with Christmas stamps 
and tied with holly ribbon. There were half 
a dozen fine handkerchiefs and a big kitchen 
apron from Jennie. A lovely lace collar and 
beautiful hand bag from Kitty; two lovely 
boxes of fine stationery, one from each, a 
Christmas gift book from Kitty and lovely 
calendar from Jennie, and — “What’s this?” 
exclaimed Mother, taking up two boxes; 
“medicine — must be. I don’t need any medi- 
cine. Kitty has written on the package she 
sent, ‘These tablets are highly recommended — 
hope they will do you good;’ and Jennie has 


58 


The Old Home 


written the directions for taking the ones she 
sent: ‘One or more after each meal and before 
going to bed.’ 

“I can’t imagine what made them send 
medicine. I don’t need them and I never 
will take one of them but I will see what they 
look like. Judging from the size of the box, 
there’s enough to last a life-time.” 

Mother untied the pretty ribbons and took 
off the fancy wrappers; on one she read 
Huyler’s; on the other Lowney’s. She laughed 
heartily. “You naughty girls, to play such 
a joke on your old mother. I think a good 
big dose every half hour would be about 
right.” 

“The dear, generous girls!” she said, as 
she looked at her gifts scattered over the table 
and chairs and her lap full. “If Wallace 
were only here, what a pleasant evening we 
would have. I guess it would seem strange 


The Old Home 


59 


to the girls if there were no father and mother 
in the old home to send their gifts to. Every 
Christmas and birthday we get a box from the 
girls. 

“It is always an all-night entertainment for 
us, when the Christmas boxes come. There 
is always one new book and Father always 
wants me to read it aloud, and if it is not more 
than an average book, we finish it before we 
go to bed. Then we have to have a little 
supper — the girls always tuck in between 
parcels lots of good things and we have a cup 
of tea made from that choice tea the girls 
never forget to send, and afterwards Father 
smokes one of the cigars from the box of the 
best that they always send to him.” 

There were many other Christmas gifts 
from sons-in-law and daughters-in-law and 
each one of the grand-children had sent a lovely 
Christmas card, besides their little gifts. 


60 


The Old Home 


Jennie’s husband sent Father a fine fur cap 
and Mother a fur neck-piece. 

“ We’ll have our little supper and celebrate 
on New Year’s. I will write to Jim to bring 
Father home first pleasant day. What would 
Christmas be to us anywhere but in the old 
home?” and Mother began to gather up the 
scattered gifts and put the room in order. 

Then she sat down at the piano. “Now, 
Fritz, we will sing our Christmas hymns.” 
The old dog rose and stood beside Mother 
while she sang, “Come, all ye faithful.” 


CHAPTER VI 

NEW YEAR’S WITH GEORGE AND MARY 

There were several stormy days after Christ- 
mas, and when it cleared off, was intensely 
cold. Saturday, it was twenty-five below, 
and a card from Jim said Father would not be 
home unless the weather moderated, as he 
did not feel very well, and did not dare 
to go out such cold weather. The 
weather grew colder and Mother thought 
she would have to eat her New Year’s dinner 
alone, but George Brown came over after her, 
early in the morning. “We want you to spend 
New Year’s with us. Mary says to come 
right over, now, so she can have a good visit 
with you.” 


61 


62 


The Old Home 


“Happy New Year, Grandma,” was Mary’s 
greeting. “I hope this will be the happiest 
of all, not only to-day, but all the year. 

“George said to me this morning, ‘Do you 
suppose there is anything the matter with 
Grandma? She has had a light burning 
two or three nights when I went to bed and 
last night there was a light there at midnight.’ 

“ ‘Books, George, just books,’ I told him. 
‘Don’t you know how well Grandma loves to 
read?’ Don’t you feel lonely these long 
evenings?” 

“Not a bit. How can one be lonely with a 
good book to read?” asked Grandma. 

The children were begging Grandma to 
come and see the pretty things they got 
Christmas — they told her who gave each 
toy — Mary said she did not believe in trying 
to make the children believe, before Christmas, 
that Santa Claus brought them, and trying 


The Old Home 


63 


to explain after Christmas, why they were 
deceived so. 

After dinner as Grandma and Mary sat 
by the cheery wood fire, Mary asked Grandma 
if the children still thought it best for them 
to leave the old home. 

“Yes,” answered Grandma, “they have 
decided now, that the best thing to do is 
to buy a small house in the city, furnace 
heated, hot and cold water in every room, 
bath, electric lights — order everything you 
want without leaving the room and have it 
brought to your door. ‘Mother, just think! 
wouldn’t you be happy?’ That is the way 
they write to me now. But Mary, it would 
not be home.” 

“And you wouldn’t be happy either. You 
remember George’s uncle and aunt that came 
to see us two years ago — the j oiliest old 
people I ever knew — well, we went to see them 


64 


The Old Home 


when we were out to Father Brown’s. They 
sold their farm and moved to the city and 
live in a house with all the conveniences that 
you spoke of. They thought it would be 
pleasanter, and better for them in every way, 
but they don’t like it. Uncle Amos looks five 
years older, doesn’t he, George?” asked Mary 
as George came into the room. 

“He looks ten years older, and isn’t a bit 
like jolly uncle Amos of two years ago. He 
had to sell everything — he could not take them 
to the city — he always had a good horse to 
drive and he misses it sorely. He was always 
busy on the farm, and now he has nothing 
to do, and instead of working himself to death, 
he is resting himself to death,” said George. 

“And Aunt Anna,” he continued, “used to 
be so proud of her fine chickens and took 
prizes at the poultry show. The year they 
left the farm — ” 


The Old Home 


65 


“Yes,” she told me about that. She said 
she wanted to go to the barn and gather the 
eggs and feed the chickens,” said Mary. 
“There is no barn nor place to keep chickens 
where they live.” 

“The truth of the matter is that they are 
two home-sick, old people,” George declared. 

“I have something to show you,” Mary said, 
taking a large photograph from the table; 
“do you know who that is?” 

“Dear Margaret,” said Grandma, “where 
did you get this? That is a good picture of 
Edward, too.” 

“This is your New Year’s present from your 
sister. I thought I would keep the best uutil 
the last,” explained Mary. 

“I’ll bet she forgot it,” laughed George. 

“Now, I will tell you how I came by it. 
Aunt Margaret’s daughter married George’s 
brother, and they were all at father Brown’s, 


66 


The Old Home 


and when she found out that I lived near you, 
she asked me how you and Grandpa were, 
what you were doing, and what you were going 
to do. 

“I told her that the children were anxious 
that you should leave the farm and either buy 
a place in the city or live with one of the chil- 
dren. We were alone in the sitting-room. 
She said to me, ‘Tell them to stay in the old 
home/ 

“ ‘We had two farms/ continued she, ‘and 
we gave one to onr son, and one to our daughter 
and we were to live six months with each one. 
They are very kind to us, and try in every 
way to make it pleasant for us — our daughter- 
in-law and son-in-law are just as anxious that 
we shall be happy, but, it isn’t home’.” 

“I don’t see,” said George, “why it is so 
much better to go to the city. We have the 
daily mail ; the telephone in nearly every neigh- 


The Old Home 


67 


borhood — we will have it here in the spring, 
so the Company says — State roads are being 
built in every direction, and the parcels post 
will bring things right to our doors too. And 
then, we have the same privilege of being run 
over by an automobile that they have in the 
city,” he added, laughing. 

“Then we have many things city people 
don’t have — fresh air, fresh eggs, and as 
Riley says, ‘unwrit poetry by the acre’.” 

“But not this time of the year,” Mary said, 
laughing; “neither fresh eggs nor poetry.” 

“There is poetry in wintry scenes,” observed 
Grandma. “Don’t you remember Emerson’s 
description of a snow storm, and Whittier’s 
fine description of the scenery after the storm?” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Mary, “but I like the 
poetry of summer — sunny skies, balmy air, 
sweet clover smell in the air.” 

“Well,” said George, who had been looking 


68 


The Old Home 


out of the window, “there will be a snow-storm 
in the air, soon. It’s coming now.” 

“Oh,” exclaimed Grandma, “I must go. No 
George, you needn’t hitch up. I can walk 
that little ways.” 

“I guess not. No trouble to hitch up.” 

“Why, Grandma, do you think we’d let 
you walk home?” Mary asked in a hurt 
tone. 

“Be ready in five minutes,” said George 
as he went out of the door. 

Mary helped Grandma put on her wraps. 

“I’ve put one of my ‘delicious mince pies’, 
and some of those ‘lovely fried cakes’ and a 
dozen of the ‘best biscuits you ever ate’ — 
that’s what you said, Grandma — in this 
basket for you to take home, then you won’t 
have to bake to-morrow, and you can sit 
by the stove and keep warm.” 

“Thank you. Your dinner was perfect; 


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69 


everything was so good,” said Grandma, 
taking the basket. 

“George went over and did up all the chores 
and built a fire, so the house would be warm — 
you won’t have to go out in the cold again 
to-night. He said no use wishing you a happy 
New Year unless we made it so.” 

“You two have given me a very happy day. 
George is at the door. Do come over and 
bring the children and stay all day,” urged 
Grandma. 

Mary promised and George helped Grandma 
into the cutter and they were soon at her door. 

“I think there’s a big storm coming. Run 
up the flag if you want any help. Good-night,” 
said George, as he drove away from the door. 


CHAPTER VII 


MAKING THE HENS LAY IN WINTER 

For two days it snowed steadily. The 
third day the wind began to blow, and huge 
drifts piled up in every direction. 

“If it blows all night, I shall have hard 
work to get to the barn in the morning,” 
Mother said, as she locked the barn door at 
night. The wind had died down, but the 
air was intensely cold. “I never can shovel 
through that,” Mother declared, as she looked 
out of the window at the big drift between 
the house and barn, but to her delight, she 
found a hard crust on the snow, on which she 
could walk without breaking through. 

The road was piled high with big drifts, 


The Old Home 


71 


and the men who were breaking out the road 
made a new road in the fields, where there 
was less snow. Then Mother had to put the 
mail-box down by the new road. 

The cow gave but little milk; the hens did 
not lay, and there was but little money left. 
Mr. Hewitt had not paid the note. Evidently 
the Tndian streak’ that never forgot a favor 
did not trouble him much. 

“If we could have kept some of the hay 
money to carry us through the winter — but 
Wallace had to have warm flannels, and a 
new suit and overcoat,” Mother sighed, 
and a new suit and overcoat,” Mother sighed. 

“I know what I’ll do. I’ll make the hens 
lay. I’ll look over the poultry books and 
find out how to do it,” and Mother went to the 
old book-case and took down a dozen books on 
keeping poultry. 

Sitting down by the window, she picked 


72 


The Old Home 


up one. “What a pretty picture,” said Moth- 
er. A pretty woman dressed in white was 
daintily scattering crumbs on the green grass 
for her flock of white Leghorn hens. “Let’s see 
what is inside. ‘Hatching Eggs. No trouble if 
you use our incubator. 99 out of every hun- 
dred sure to hatch’.” Mother turned the pages 
rapidly. “How to feed the chickens. How to 
have broilers in Jour weeks. How to make hens 
lay in winter — that’s what I want to know!” 
exclaimed Mother. “ ‘Feed your hens whole 
grain, but give them a variety — no slops’.” 

Taking up another, she read, “Eggs in 
winter — as easy as rolling off a log. Feed 
your hens green food and you will have eggs 
by the bushel — sure thing. Get our Oats 
sprouter if you want eggs.” 

“Now this one says, ‘always give your hens 
hot water and hot mashes, if you want them 
to lay in winter’.” 


The Old Home 


73 


“Here’s another — ‘always keep pure, cold 
water where the hens can get it, and feed dry 
mash.’ Here’s one. ‘A fortune in hens!’ 
Send me a dollar and get our new book, 
‘Making the hens pay off the mortgage.’ 
Nothing but facts. One man given up by the 
doctors, began keeping hens, regained his 
health, and paid off the mortgage on his 
home, and is now well and happy. Our 
book tells you just how to do it. Send the 
dollar to-day. “It would be worth a dollar 
to know how to do it, but I haven’t any 
dollar to spare just now,” Mother said, laughing. 

Reading from another, “Do you want lots 
of eggs when they are worth fifty cents a 
dozen? Then get our bone cutter and feed 
your hens green bone. Our bone cutter is 
the only one you can afford to buy. Get it 
nowl Send for it to-day\ Green bone and 
our bone-cutter does the business.” 


74 


The Old Home 


“I believe the green bone is a good thing,” 
said Mother. “But I have no bone-cutter 
nor green bone either.” Just then Fritz 
came on the porch with a bound, dropping 
some heavy object on the floor with a clatter. 
Mother jumped out of the chair, scattering 
poultry books in every direction. Running 
to the door she said to the dog, “How you 
frightened me, Fritz! What have you got 
there? A green bone, as sure as I live. If 
I can only get him in the house before he 
carries it off. Come, Fritz, good dog, come 
here and get some milk,” running to the pantry 
after the bowl of milk. 

Fritz wagged his tail in joy at the sight of 
the milk. “There goes the cream I was 
going to save for my coffee, and the milk I 
was going to use for the pudding for my dinner 
— all I had, too. Never mind, I saved the 
green bone. And as for that wonderful 


The Old Home 


75 


bone-cutter, I guess an old axe, a stone and 
a little ambition will do the work. 

Leaving Fritz in the house for fear he would 
dispute her right to the bone, Mother got the 
axe, the stone and her ambition, and soon 
reduced some of the bone to fine particles 
and put the rest away where the dog could not 
find it. 

“I know if I were a hen I should prefer a 
hot mash when the theremometer says 20 
degrees below zero, and a hot drink, too. I 
will try that first, declared Mother. 

Mother had always been an early riser. 
“The morning is the best part of the day,” 
she said. She ate her breakfast at six o’clock 
every morning, and for the next two weeks 
she spent her whole time “fussing with the 
hens,” as she said. 

She brought water from the spring, heated 
it and carried it hot to the barn for the hens 


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to drink; she made hot mashes and pounded 
green bone with the old axe, until her arms 
ached so she couldn’t sleep. “They all agree 
on one thing,” Mother said, “and that is the 
hens must have green food. Well,” she 
continued, “I have got a few vegetables that I 
intended to eat myself, but if it will make the 
hens lay, I don’t care.” 

“Hang that cabbage up where the hens 
will have to jump for it. Exercise is what 
they need,” she read. And Mother promptly 
hung it up. Mother fed all her precious vege- 
tables, raw, cooked, chopped up, and whole. 
She even fed the hens the beef she had frozen 
up for future use. “It does seem a pity to 
give them this good meat.” But she consoled 
herself with the thought of the dozens of eggs 
she would have to sell at fifty cents a dozen — 
“and the paper says they will be sixty cents 
a dozen,” she said aloud. A few dozen will 


The Old Home 


77 


pay for all they have eaten, and I shall have 
money to use as I please,” she exclaimed, de- 
lightedly. 

Mother thought so much about eggs during 
the day that she dreamed about them at night 
— she saw baskets full on every side, but alas! 
that was the only time she did see them. For 
two weeks she faithfully followed the directions 
in the various poultry books, but no eggs. 

One day she heard a hen cackle. “I was 
sure they would lay soon.” She ran to the 
barn, but not a cackle did she hear. The 
hens were standing in a patch of sunshine, a 
contented looking lot. They walked around 
Mother, looking at her curiously with one eye. 
“We don’t sit on a nest to lay eggs when the 
thermometer is 20 degrees below, and freeze 
to death, for anybody. The good, old sum- 
mer-time for us, old woman.” Mother stood 
there looking at them. Suddenly, she ex- 


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claimed, “I know what Fll do” — pointing her 
finger at the hens — “you have eaten up every- 
thing and now I will eat you,” and she caught up 
a fat hen and soon had it cooking for dinner. 

She sat down to rest and think over matters. 
“This may be just the work for an invalid, 
as the poultry books says, but I am completely 
fagged out, and I’m no invalid. The hens 
are fat, very likely too fat to lay. There 
are thirty hens and thirty pullets. I will sell 
the hens — except a few that I keep to eat — I 
want the satisfaction of eating some of them” 
Mother smiled grimly. “The* pullets I will 
keep and they will lay eggs in the spring 
when it is the natural time for hens to lay. 
There’s another thing I will do — I’ll use every 
one of those poultry books to kindle the fire.” 

So absorbed had Mother been in making 
money from hens that she forgot to answer the 
children’s letters. 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE CHILDREN BEGIN TO WORRY 

The next morning the mail carrier brought 
five letters. Jennie wrote, “What is the mat- 
ter that I do not hear from you? I had a 
terrible dream last night — thought you were 
nearly frozen to death. Telephoned to Jim 
to go out and see if you had plenty of wood. 
Am sending you a box by express.” Kitty 
wrote, “My dream worries me — dreamed you 
had only a loaf in the house, so am sending 
you $2.00 to buy more. Really, Mother, 
you ought to write oftener. I shall expect a 
good, long letter from you very soon, dear 
Mother, telling me how you are and what you 
are doing this cold weather.” 

79 


80 


The Old Home 


Danny writes, “Am anxious to hear from 
you. Let me know by next mail if there is 
anything I can do for you or get you.” 

A jingle of bells caused her to look out of 
the window. Jim and his wife were at the 
door. She went to the door. “Well, Mother, 
I am glad to see you. So long since I heard 
from you, thought I would drive out and see 
if you had moved away.” 

“No, nor do I intend to,” Mother said, 
laughing. “I am so glad to see you both. 
Do come in. How is Father?” 

“Father is better; I’ll put the horse in the 
barn, first.” 

Jim said Father was talking of coming 
home as soon as the weather was warmer; 
sent her a pound of the best tea, and Jim 
brought her a basket packed full of good 
things. 

Sam and his oldest boy came, too. Sam 


The Old Home 


81 


had just butchered and brought Mother a 
spare-rib. Mother said there was nothing 
spare about that rib — and Anna, his wife, 
had sent a lot of pies, cakes and cookies. She 
had baked up for threshers, and they didn’t 
come. Anna said they would spoil, she had 
such a lot on hand and she was going to fill a 
basket and send to Mother. 

Will wrote, sending a dollar: “It may come 
in handy,” he said.” Mother said it was 
just like an old-fashioned donation with the 
cleaning up afterward left out. 

Mother got dinner. “No trouble,” she said, 
“when it is brought right to your door.” 

As they sat at the table, Mother asked, 
“Boys, does or does it not seem good to come 
to the old home?” 

“Of course,” Sam replied, “but it is your 
happiness and Father’s we are thinking of.” 

“Then don’t ever say another word about 


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our going away from the old home,” said 
Mother earnestly. 

After they were gone, Mother sat a long 
time by the fire thinking of the children — 
how thoughtful for her comfort, and how 
generous they were. She laughed when she 
thought of the “donation;” but admitted to 
herself “that it came just right.” 

Mother wrote a long letter to each of the 
girls, telling them all the news, and that 
there was nothing to worry about. 

Mother sold the hens, and after buying 
grain enough to last the hens until spring, she 
had very little money left. “But I will not 
borrow trouble.” “ ‘Sufficient unto the day 
is the evil thereof/ ” she quoted. 

February was intensely cold, “but it is 
such a short month I don’t mind it,” Mother 
said to Mary, who, with the children, was 
spending the day with Grandma. George 


The Old Home 


83 


came over to supper. “You've got good grit, 
Grandma, to do the chores this cold weather. 
I would come over and do them for you if 
you would leave them until I milk the cows,” 
George said. 

“No,” replied Grandma, “you are very 
kind, but you know I want to convince the 
children that it is possible for me to stay in 
the old home, and do what little there is to do, 
and be happy.” 

“The first of March and such a beautiful 
day! More like April. Wallace will be sure 
to come home now.” 


CHAPTER IX 


HEWITT PAYS THE NOTE 

“I’ve used the last cent,” continued Mother. 
“I do wish Hewitt would pay that note.” 

As if in answer to her wish, Hewitt drove 
into the yard. “Good morning, Mrs. Clinton. 
I said to my wife this morning Tm going over 
and pay that note if we have to live on po- 
tatoes and salt.’ There’s a streak of Indian 
in my make-up and I never forget a favor,” 
Hewitt declared. 

“I don’t want you to go without things 
you need — ” 

“We ain’t deprivin’ ourselves of any com- 
forts, but I meant I would do it so as to pay 
84 


The Old Home 


85 


you that money. As I was telling ye, I 
never forgit a favor.” 

“Apples all gone?” he asked. 

“There are a few left. They did not keep 
good, and I have sold some at the grocery, 
and given away a few,” Mother answered. 

“ ‘A few!’ I guess so! I know how you 
are always giving away things. I told Matilda 
this morning you was the freest-hearted woman 
in the town. But if you hain’t got but a 
few left—” 

“I am going to send some to the children, 
anyway.” 

“Don’t get but a few, then — half a bushel 
will do.” 

Mother laughed as she went down the cellar 
stairs, “He has paid for his apples in advance, 
but I think that compliment is hardly worth 
a half bushel of apples.” 

“If you didn’t go and pick out the big ones! 


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The Old Home 


Wouldn’t every body do that. Any time I’m 
going by, and you want to send to the village, 
jest holler. Won’t cost you a cent, and save 
your going out in the cold,” he said as he took 
the basket of apples. 

“Thank you. I’ll remember it,” Mother 
replied, as he went out of the door. 

“Thirty-five dollars,” said Mother, looking 
at the little roll of bills she had in her hand. 
“That will last until we have a steady income 
from the cow and hens. And,” she continued, 
“it won’t be so very long before the straw- 
berries will be ready for market. That new 
bed I set last year ought to bear a big crop. 
There must be nearly a quarter of an acre. 
That will bring in a nice little sum. There 
will be some raspberries to sell, too.” She 
rose from her chair hastily, saying, “I’ll never 
leave the old home until I am called to the 
Home beyond.” 



Jim was at the Door 




f 



The Old Home 


87 


“What a change in the weather!” Mother 
exclaimed the next morning. Genuine March 
weather — rain, snow, hail and the wind blowing 
a gale, and it lasted a week. 


CHAPTER X 


FATHER COMES HOME 

Then it grew cold — 10 degrees below zero 
at night; 15 degrees below in the morning; 
20 degrees the next night and a hard wind 
blowing which increased to a gale by morning, 
the weather moderating. Mother did not 
look for Father while the storm lasted. 

The sun shone bright and warm after the 
storm, on the brown fields and the tender 
green of the door-yard. The sparrows were 
hopping around the door. “It is Spring!” 
cried Mother with delight. “There is some 
one coming beyond the old school-house!” 
she esclaimed, and she went to meet him. It 


The Old Home 


89 


was Wallace. “How does it seem to get home? 
You are looking well. How are you feeling? 
How did you come?” 

Father laughed. “One at a time, if you 
please. I came to the village on the cars and 
rode up with George. Jim said he would 
bring me out to-morrow, but this pleasant 
weather set me thinking of home, and I 
felt as if I couldn’t wait, so you know, it 
seems good to get home. I’m feeling as 
well as I ever expect to,” he added with a 
weary sigh. 

“Cheer up, Father. This beautiful spring 
weather will help you,” she said, as they walked 
slowly toward the house. “See what a pretty 
bit of spring and the country I found just 
now — dear little pussy-willows. There’s a 
blue-bird, Wallace, in the old sweet-tree. 
‘He carols from the orchard his tremulous 
songs;’ not to me,” she said, laughingly, 


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The Old Home 


“but to welcome you home. Are you 
not glad that I stayed in the old home. 
Now you have a home to come back to,” 
said Mother. 

“I think you were foolish to stay here alone 
and have to be out in the cold so much when 
you could have had a home with any of them 
this winter. No running after wood and 
water or to the barn when it was cold enough 
to freeze you to death. Nothing to do but 
enjoy yourself — and come back in the spring,” 
he added. 

“Right there is where you are mistaken. If 
I had gone, too, we never would have come 
back,” Mother declared emphatically. “The 
children had made up their minds that that 
was the only sensible thing to do. Of course, 
I don’t think they would force us to leave the 
old home, but you remember, ‘a continual 
dropping wears away a stone/ and that other 


The Old Home 


91 


saying, ‘Possession is nine points of the 
law’.” 

“I did not feel lonely here because it is my 
home and — call it sentimental if you wish — 
to me every room is full of precious memories. 
And then I took up a course of reading, which 
I enjoyed very much, and made the evenings 
pass quickly.” 

“What’s the use of that? I call that a 
waste of time for any one of your age. I 
guess if we read the daily papers that’ll do — 
and smoke,” he added, as he filled his pipe 
again. 

“Why not,” Mother continued, “fit our- 
selves to be an intelligent companion to our 
children and grand-children, giving pleasure 
to all as long as we live — loved and esteemed 
for what we are, and not simply tolerated 
for what we have been.” She laid her hand 
upon his arm. “This world is beautiful, and 


92 


The Old Home 


life is good” — “to the young,” he remarked. — 
“to the old,” she continued; “the skies are 
as bright, the songs of the birds as sweet, 
and the flowers as fragrant and beautiful, as 
in our younger days.” 



The Old School-house 


i 




















































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CHAPTER XII 


MOTHER’S BIRTHDAY 

The weather continued warm and spring-like. 

The 27th of March, Mother’s birthday, 
dawned bright and warm, almost a summer- 
like air and sky. Father did not make much 
account of birth-days, but he did wish Mother 
“many happy returns.” 

He went from the house to the barn and 
down to the road so often that Mother noticed 
it. “Makes you uneasy, doesn’t it, Wallace, 
such pleasant spring weather! It makes me 
feel as if I wanted to go right to work and 
make the garden.” 

The mail came, and Mother said it was very 
strange — not one birthday card from anyone. 
93 


94 


The Old Home 


She heard a shout and going to the door, she 
looked down the road. “Why, there’s Sam 
and the whole family. There are two more 
carriages and I believe they are coming here.” 

“Mother, it is your birthday,” Father said, 
laughing. 

“We’re all here, Mother,” Sam said. And 
they were. Sons and daughters, their hus- 
bands and wives, and the grandchildren, from 
the big grandson, fourteen years old, to the 
baby that couldn’t walk — and best of all, 
the ‘boy’ who had been gone so many years 
was there, too, with his wife. Father and the 
children knew he was coming, but they didn’t 
let Mother know — it was to be a surprise on 
her birthday. How glad she was to see him! 
“How good it seems to be home again! If you 
had not been here to welcome me to the old 
home, I would have taken the next train for 
the West,” he said. 


The Old Home 


95 


Everybody was shaking hands, talking and 
laughing — the little ones were coming up shyly 
behind Grandma’s chair, snatching a kiss 
with a “Guess who I am.” 

Although the table in the pantry was piled 
high with the good things that the children 
brought for the birthday dinner, not one of 
them had given Mother a birthday gift. 

An expectant hush came over the merry 
party. “Grandma, we children have brought 
you a basket of good wishes,” said Kenneth, 
the big grandson, handing her a fancy basket 
tied with an elaborate bow of ribbon, and 
filled with small white envelopes, each one 
bearing the words, “A good wish for Grandma,” 
signed with the name of the donor. 

Sam rose quickly. “We older ones could 
not think of anything original, so we adopted 
the children’s plan, and have brought you a 
basket of good wishes, too,” handing her a 


96 


The Old Home 


larger basket, filled with larger envelopes, 
bearing the same message. 

“Kitty, you and I will help Mother. You 
open the envelopes, I will read the wish, and 
Mother can hold them,” Jennie said, taking 
the children’s basket. 

Each little envelope contained a dollar bill 
— “a good wish” from Kenneth. The same 
from each grandchild, even the baby. They 
laid the bills in Grandma’s hand, and began 
on the larger basket. As Jennie laid the last 
one on the little pile of crisp bills in her hand — 
the children had been so generous — a faint 
color crept into Mother’s thin face, and two 
tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on the 
good wishes. She looked into the faces of 
her loving children, but could not say a word. 

Kenneth, boy-like, knew but one thing to 
do, and springing to his feet, he shouted, 
“Three cheers for Grandma!” 


The Old Home 


97 


How the children cheered! And the 
older ones were just as bad. Even the 
baby waved his hand, crowed and kicked, 
as if he understood it all. Grandma whis- 
pered to Kenneth, “Three cheers for Grand- 
pa/ ’ yelled Kenneth, and again the house 
shook. 

After the excitement had subsided, the 
“girls” went to the kitchen to see about the 
dinner, insisting that Grandma visit with the 
rest. Father and “the boys” went out to 
look around. Soon the younger boys joined 
them. All went to look at the “old sweet 
tree”, the big willow with the crooked limb 
that made such a nice place to sit and read or 
“loaf”; the creek where they used to fish; the 
boy from the West was humming softly, 
“Home, Sweet Home.” 

“Dinner is ready. Shall I call them?” 
asked Jennie. 


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The Old Home 


“No. Here, take this,” and Mother handed 
her the old dinner horn. 

“Then blow the horn at the old back-door 
Till the echoes all haloo, 

And the children gather home once’t more, 
Jest as they ust to do.” 

THE END. 




































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